


Cookies and Kitchen Floors

by blanchards



Series: Trick or Treat (but mostly treat) [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Baking, Confessions, Established Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Fluff, Halloween, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Katara (Avatar) is the best sister to ever exist, Kissing, Love, M/M, Modern AU, Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Referenced Alcohol Use, Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) Being Ridiculously Wholesome, talking about feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27279340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchards/pseuds/blanchards
Summary: “What??” He asked, indignantly, staring up through his eyelashes with a large smear of purple icing streaked across his forehead. “If you’re going to be here, you could at least pull your weight, I don’t pay you to stand around looking cute and complaining.”“You don’t pay me at all.” Zuko hummed, selecting an orange piping bag and picking it up. “And I can’t help that you find me cute.”In which Sokka and Zuko severely overestimate their baking skills but try their best regardless.
Relationships: Katara & Sokka (Avatar), Katara & Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Trick or Treat (but mostly treat) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1994242
Comments: 12
Kudos: 145





	Cookies and Kitchen Floors

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is the first part of my Trick or Treat (but mostly treat) series featuring 3 Halloween stories around Sokka/Zuko, Mai/Ty Lee and Suki/Yue. I'm gonna tell you right off the bat that there's an ungodly amount of fluff in this one, folks. You've been warned. Rated T for swearing and kissing (completely SFW).

“It says here, per 15 cookies: 100 grams of flour.”

“I thought it said a thousand.”

“Why the fuck would it say a thousand, Zuko.”

As far back as he could remember, Sokka’s boyfriend had owned a basic reading comprehension ability. Based on him standing in the middle of their tiny student kitchen with the biggest bag of flour Sokka had ever seen – you would not know this.

He couldn’t even remember why they’d agreed to do it. Science and maths were Sokka’s thing, they kind of had to be as an engineering major, but when he’d chosen to attend university for it, he had hadn’t imagined this would be how he put those skills to use. But at least he knew how to count zeros, so he had that going for him. The same could, clearly, not be said for everyone.

“I thought it said a thousand, and we’re making loads of cookies for this thing, so I acted accordingly. If it’s such a big deal, why didn’t you just buy the flour yourself?”

“ _Because_ Zuko, sweetheart, when I sent you to get it, I wasn’t exactly expecting you to return with half the contents of a mill. Christ, how much did this even cost?”

Zuko sighed as he dragged the comically large sack over to their kitchen table. Sokka didn’t bother to avert his eyes from his arms. “Flour’s really not the elusive, invaluable substance you seem to think it is. Anyway, I used my dad’s card. Not like he needs the money in the middle of a prison complex.” This much was true. Zuko’s father had been found guilty of a slew of crimes ranging from tax evasion to assault during their first year of living together - it was the happiest Sokka had seen his best friend in a long time. A month later, he’d come out. They hadn’t looked back since.

But his cards apparently still worked, judging by the bakery his son had managed to transform their apartment into.

“Okay.” Sokka ran his free hand through his wolf tail, still scouring the recipe on his phone with the other. “At least we won’t run out.” He leaned over and offered his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek as thanks, and couldn’t help the fond smile on his face when he blushed in return. He didn’t know how long they’d have to be together for before Zuko stopped becoming slightly flustered at every gentle sign of affection he was offered, but they clearly hadn’t hit that point yet.

Neither of them were bakers. They weren’t even cooks, honestly. Unless you counted instant ramen and oven pizzas as cooking, which he knew his sister would not. But the one thing Sokka _was_ was the kind of person who liked to help out and did wherever he could. And Zuko was the kind of person who loved his boyfriend and humoured whatever silly project he’d roped them into. Silly project in question this time: baking about six dozen Halloween treats for a charity event, raising money for the robotics club. Sokka loved that club. Sokka knew they needed help. Sokka didn’t deem baking to be a challenge.

So they were baking six dozen cookies.

Or, trying to. Admittedly, their first two batches didn’t taste (or, really even look) right. The third left a lot to be desired. Sokka was suddenly extremely thankful for Zuko’s metric ton of flour.

He scowled at the instructions. “I don’t understand. We’re doing everything right. We measured everything out perfectly, we mixed it for the right amount of time,” he switched his intense focus to the very sorry looking iced cookies in front of him, “Why won't you work??”

A pair of arms snaked around his waist from behind, as a head gently plopped onto his shoulder. “Maybe we’re just not natural-born chefs.” He felt Zuko reach out to scoop some icing off the spoon Sokka was holding before putting his finger back into his mouth. He felt him wince. “Did we put _salt_ in that one?? They both look the same.” Sokka swatted the hand away from the utensils.

“Stop eating the confectionaries.”

“I’m not sure we can legally call them confectionaries. Try, edible torture device.”

He put his head in his hands and groaned, slipping down against the cabinets until he was sitting on the floor. Through the gaps in his fingers, he saw a familiar pair of skinny jean-clad, long legs cross in front of him. He felt a gentle pull at his wrists as Zuko took both his hands into his own lap. They sat like that, Sokka sulking, Zuko smiling with a combination of amusement and sympathy, for at least two days - or ten minutes, or forever – before one of them spoke.

“You don’t need to be perfect at everything first try, you know.” A soft voice broke into the silence. “I know that sounds rich, coming from me and all, but since I started talking to someone about– well I’ve realised that. Take it from a professional failure, this doesn’t make you one.” It broke Sokka’s heart, just a little, to see Zuko absentmindedly touch the burn on the side of his face as he finished his sentence. Whilst it was great that he was finally able to process all the hell he knew his father put him through, it still felt like somebody was twisting Sokka’s guts whenever he heard him speak of himself like that.

“You’re not a professional failure.” He scooted around besides the taller boy, tucking his head into his chest. Zuko wrapped his arm around his shoulder to pull him in further until Sokka could hear his heartbeat. Steady, calming. This wasn’t their first time sitting on the kitchen floor, going back and forth between speaking their minds and just existing in each other’s embrace, listening to their breathing.

The ritual had started a mere few weeks after they’d first moved in together. Sokka hadn’t been able to make much sense of his moody new roommate, with his bizarre sleeping habits and short temper. Sokka liked to think of himself as a people person, but Zuko was almost aggressively socially awkward. Still, he saw a softness beneath the cold exterior, a kindness. It reminded him somewhat of him and his sister’s friend; a young girl called Toph who clearly cared fiercely about those around her but showed affection with (rather forceful for someone weighing under 100 pounds) punches into peoples’ arms. Even then, as a relatively naive 18-year-old, he knew Zuko’s abrasiveness and sharp edges were just a mask for a much deeper issue, likely founded in fear. He never judged him. And when Sokka saw him one day nearly close to tears, crumpled on the kitchen floor, swearing from burning his hands on the oven, he didn’t say a word as he sat down next to him and pulled him into his arms. After the sobbing and hitched breathing had subsided, they’d formed a silent agreement to not speak of it again. Yet, since then, every big decision and conversation had taken place on that floor. They were there when Zuko told Sokka about his father and his years of abuse, when Sokka confessed how he felt he’d never live up to his family and would always feel painfully normal in comparison. When Zuko decided to come out, he’d stood in Sokka’s bedroom doorway for a few minutes in silence before saying “Hey, can we do that thing where we sit on the kitchen floor and... talk about our feelings?”. Even their first kiss was on those tiles (and their second, third and fourth). There was something about sitting in that spot that just felt safe. It was _theirs_. It wasn’t the comfiest, but it was the one place in the world Sokka always wanted to be; whether it was discussing an exhausting week, delving into shelved childhood trauma together, or even getting perhaps a little more upset than entirely necessary over burnt cookies.

There was a familiar tug as his hair finally came loose from its tie, having been falling out of bit by bit the more stressed and dishevelled he got. A pair of hands slowly and gently started to scoop it up, calloused yet somehow soft fingers methodically making their way through, strand by strand until it was neatly styled back in place.

“Hey, another thing, something they’re teaching me; it’s okay to ask for help.” The feeling in Sokka’s stomach told him that the sentence was intended to mean something much larger than to comfort him from his baking disaster. But Zuko didn’t add anything, and Sokka didn’t pry, he simply squeezed the torso beneath his arms tighter.

“Do you think Katara knows how to make cookies?”

* * *

Katara, as it turns out, did know how to make cookies. Very good cookies, as a matter of fact. She’d been gracious enough to drop them off the following morning after Zuko texted her about how much he knew this secretly meant to her brother. She’d appeared, armed to the teeth with reusable plastic boxes and bags of icing, at their door less than 24 hours later.

“I’m not decorating them.” She pointed out, “You have to do _something_ yourselves.” Zuko shot her a grateful look, pulling his wallet out to compensate her. She raised a hand. “Don’t worry about it, I’ve been aiding Sokka’s schemes my whole life. He’s just lucky I still live so close and haven’t decided to flee the country to get away from them yet.”

“Have I told you you’re the best sister I’ve ever had?” Sokka asked, pulling her into a hug so quickly that Zuko had to scramble to remove the items from her arms before they crashed to the floor. He exchanged a fond smile with her over his boyfriend’s shoulder, mouthing a very sincere thank you.

“I’m the _only_ sister you have.” She pried herself away after returning the embrace, smiling despite her teasing. Starting to put her hood back up, preparing for the torrential downpour outside, she spared them one more look before she left. “Enjoy.”

And making cookies, Zuko was quick to realise, when all you have to do is put icing on top of them in some kind of a coherent pattern, is far more enjoyable. He stole a glance over at Sokka, pressed up against him in their tiny kitchen, hunched over slightly, tongue poking out, with a face of concentration almost enough to inflict laughter. Zuko settled for a very involuntary grin instead, not wanting to disturb his focus. From the time Katara made her delivery to now, they’d already managed to complete well over half of the batch, only taking breaks to poke fun at one another’s creations and smear icing on each other’s face in mirthful retaliation.

"They're not very scary," Sokka offered, as if able to feel eyes on him.

"I don't think they're meant to be. A lot of people don't even use Halloween to be scary. They might as well just rename it Wear-Costumes-And-Get-Fucked-Up-Oween"

"This feels personal."

"It's not."

"Zuko-"

"It's not!" he argued, perhaps a little too defensively for someone who wasn't supposed to be defending anything. "I just think its kinda stupid."

"Wow, who banned fun in your household?" Sokka teased, jabbing into him slightly.

"Literally? My father." Was the deadpan response.

"Oh my god- Zuko. Right, look, you'll like it this year. I have a plan."

"Is... your plan to wear costumes and get fucked up?" 

"Yes." 

He raised an eyebrow. Sokka let out a long sigh, "Babe, its a tried and true strategy. If you can't beat em, join em."

He turned to meet his grumpy boyfriend's gaze and wink. This time Zuko really did laugh.

“What??” He asked, indignantly, staring up through his eyelashes with a large smear of purple icing streaked across his forehead. “If you’re going to be here, you could at least pull your weight, I don’t pay you to stand around looking cute and complaining.”

“You don’t pay me at all.” Zuko hummed, selecting an orange piping bag and picking it up. “And I can’t help that you find me cute.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was really no denying the blush creeping onto his face. Assuming he’d won that argument, Zuko began to pick up where he left off, tracing delicate lines around the shape in front of him. The act was so hypnotising that it was immediately easy to forget anybody else was in the room – the sudden splatter on his cheek was a very obvious reminder.

Sokka was grinning ear to ear, apparently very proud of himself. He wanted to frown but Zuko had known for months that one glance at his boyfriend beaming in the way he was right then – and any downturned expression was firmly off the table. “Okay,” he sighed raising his hands in surrender. “You got me.” Off guard now, he was certain Sokka was moments from gloating when he aimed the piping bag nozzle bag at him – and squeezed. The boy shrieked, attempting and failing to pull icing from his hair.

“The hair?? Are you fucking kidding me Zuko?? That’s totally an illegal move!” He grabbed his own frosting device for defence, staring his boyfriend down. The smirk and mischievous shine in his eyes didn’t go unnoticed. Zuko folded his arms over his chest, trying not to laugh at the absurdity of practically re-enacting a scene from some bizarre patisserie themed western. It didn’t take long for the situation to devolve from there.

When Zuko met Sokka for the first time almost three years ago, thrust together by fate and the university’s random roommate selector, he could have told you he was pretty. He could have told you, that for all his snoring and chattering and ridiculously infectious enthusiasm, Sokka was one of the most beautiful boys he’d met. Probably would ever meet. Of course, he _wouldn’t_ have told you this, Narnia-levels-deep still in the closet and insanely paranoid of trusting any individual as far as he could throw them. But he knew it, even then. And that still rang true, years later, as he stared at him, icing smeared and spattered onto every wall and surface in sight, waiting for him to forfeit their confectionary war. Because even coated in sugar, stray hairs plastered to his face, laughing uncontrollably until his face turned red – Sokka was the most beautiful boy Zuko was certain he would ever know.

In theory, kissing your frosting doused boyfriend may seem like a good idea. Sugary kisses greedily exchanged, lips peppering at cheeks and jawlines - tongues lapping up bright colours. After a while, however, you may come to realise that it’s kind of uncomfortable. And sticky. And gross. It’s this very realisation that caused Zuko to retreat to a standing position, hoisting his 6ft something companion with him, who apparently hadn’t come to the same conclusion yet. He felt a very familiar mouth hum against his throat, arms wrapping around his torso.

“You said these have to be out by 4. It’s 2 now, that gives us about another hour, maybe an hour and a half, but we’re gonna need to shower, I need this gunk out of my hair so- _Sokka_. _”_

“mphm?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, sure, something about gunk in your hair.”

He held the boy at arm’s length, trying his best to look firm although Zuko would be hard-pressed to admit he didn’t immediately miss the warmth by his side. He spoke very slowly, hoping the words might actually puncture through Sokka’s obvious haze of suddenly needing to kiss him senseless. “We. Need. To. Get. These. Finished.”

The blue eyes caught in his crossfire stared at him long and hard, seemingly weighing up if they actually did need to finish the task after all. In the end, they seemed to reluctantly agree. Zuko watched his boyfriend turn back towards the table. He picked up the piping bag, then paused, and frowned, finally casting a glance over to the opposite side of the surface.

“Yours look so much better than mine.” He said quietly. And arm’s length be damned, without hesitation, Zuko pulled him back towards his chest.

“Not better. Different.” He felt a huff against him. He tried again. “Okay, for what it’s worth? I like yours more. They’re charming and they’ve all got personality. Mine just look boring and symmetrical.”

A sigh. Sokka pulled away, returning to his station.

“People want symmetrical.”

“People just want sugar. They don’t care what form it takes.” That earned him a laugh, the sight of Sokka chuckling warming him to the absolute core. He placed the piping nozzle to the base of his next cookie and watched the other boy do the same, Sokka’s tell-tale focused expression slowly creeping back onto his face, this time with a smile behind it. They worked in silence for a while, but not an uncomfortable one. Just the two of them, the soundtrack for their work being each other’s breathing and the sounds of the rain outside the window.

“You really like mine more?”

“I really do.” Zuko reassured him. He meant it. Glancing down, he took in the array of colours and shapes, each one so individual and creatively designed. So what if people wanted something that looked polished and shop-bought? It didn’t matter.

They were still the best he’d ever seen.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, if you like, and feel free to check out the other stories in the series if that's your thing. I'm on tumblr @[tysukis](http://www.tysukis.tumblr.com). Happy Halloween!


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